Page 70 of Play Pretend

Was this all a big mistake?

My hands trembled as I ran them over my jeans. Everything would be so much easier if I could read his mind. Sometimes he acted like he really liked me, but sometimes it felt like we were too awkward around each other for anything genuine to ever bloom.

Yet a part of me clung to the hope that maybe he’d want to turn this into something real in a couple weeks. He’d sit me down and admit that he had feelings for me, too.

Or maybe that was a pipe dream.

I sighed as I shook my hair out again, then made my way into the kitchen. Heat from the oven enveloped me as I pulled the pot pie out and set it on the stove. The warm, savory scent wafted through the air as I grabbed my phone.

Leaning against the counter, I stared at my messages. He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he hadn’t seen them?

I chewed on my bottom lip as I glanced at the daisy-shaped wall clock. He should be home in just a few minutes. What if he stopped at the diner? This meal would’ve been for nothing if he already ate.

Without giving myself time to really think about it, I pressed the call button and brought the phone to my ear. It rang and rang, and my stomach twisted painfully. The food no longer smelled appetizing, and the nervous excitement I’d felt all day melted into pure anxiety.

“Hello?” His voice was deep and gruff and didn’t have any of the gentleness it held last night.

“Um, hey.” A tense laugh left me as I began pacing. Why did it feel like my blood was vibrating? “Did you get my texts?”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

“For an hour?”

A harsh sigh pushed through the phone, and dread pooled in my stomach. I was pushing too much—I was beingtoo much.

Don’t rock the boat.

Don’t upset him.

“I mean, you’ve been busy for an hour? That really sucks. I bet you’re exhausted.” I searched for anything to smooth his mood out, to make him happy. “You work so hard, so that’s whyI was asking if you’d like to have dinner tonight. But it’s totally not a big deal if you don’t want to. I made too much?—”

“I don’t know what time I’ll be home,” he said. “Are you okay? I really have to go.”

I twisted my hand into my stomach. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.”

My makeup suddenly felt too heavy on my face, the mascara too itchy and the lip gloss too sticky. The cooling pot pie mocked me on the stove as I stared at it.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “See you later.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. A ragged breath escaped my lungs as I braced my hands on the counter and dropped my head forward.

He was mad at me.

I did something wrong.

I ruined everything.

My mind spiraled further and further down into that familiar pit I hadn’t felt in a long time. I dragged in another breath, my fingertips digging into the unforgiving counter.

What did I do wrong? What changed from yesterday to today?

My past and present blurred together, old feelings rearing up and reminding me I could never outrun the years of trauma that made up my tattered soul. I searched for something to ground me, a solid point in the room to plant me firmly in this moment.

Ronan wasn’t Daniel.

Ronan wasn’t my dad.

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